Tuesday, April 19, 2011

﻿﻿ Pasta represents a huge ooga-booga bear. I’m weak-willed and more than a little slutty when it comes to pasta. I want it badly. I beg to go steady with it. I text and phone it incessantly. It is my heroin and I have few defenses against its seductive allure. In fact, put pasta up against any kind of sweet you can imagine and pasta will win before the match begins.

I love it that match.

I covet my neighbor’s pasta is what I do. I’m a coveter.

And the only two things that get me past “my preciouses” are my totally functional food buddies: zoodles and the handy, dandy Konjac noodles whom you’ve already met.